


Foolish Heart

by TheNobodyofaSOLDIER



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: F/M, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Slow Romance, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 16:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30075294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNobodyofaSOLDIER/pseuds/TheNobodyofaSOLDIER
Summary: [Spike x Reader]~ written by my sister
Relationships: Spike Spiegel/Reader
Kudos: 3





	Foolish Heart

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xjuC8BvtmI Please listen while you read!)

_Another night, another customer. I want to say this was like my other sessions, but I'm afraid it kinda wasn't. He's certainly cuter than the others…but that's not all. What's going on?_

Night clubs were all the same to you, regardless of the city, state, or even planet you visited. Granted, you had tried a couple, and as far as you were concerned, it was all work. Everyone had to do some kind of work, and your experimentation of place after place was all in favor of the call of duty. As much as you wanted to diss work, you couldn't deny that there were pros and cons as every job, but it was hardest to see the pros. To put it simply, you became a stripper.

You were used to the gig. Night after night, sometimes until the first hours of the morning, you would visit men to give them a good time and get the money. Very few times had anyone really asked, "So how did you get here anyway?" Deep down, you would be fine to hear this. After all, no one really gave you the time to communicate your feelings. In the long run, you decided it was best to suppress the feelings you started with from day one. After all, they wouldn't seem to matter. You seemed to regret this decision now.

You had just finished with a customer, and you could have almost sworn this was an absolute mishap. Rumors fired up about your boss "having a bounty on him," and while you supposed this could happen to more people on the spot, you started to wonder what he did. What would you do then? Quit? Run away? Perhaps get another job and start all over again. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, the bounty hunter you had in your room--on your couch--was trying to remove that focus from you. Of course, he already told you things you knew: he was an ass, and he practically committed unforgivable crimes. 

That's right. It's not my fault. I am just doing the job. What he does has nothing to do with me. I…I almost forgot that.

"Is something wrong?"

"What? …no no, it's nothing. Wait here, Spike. I'm going out."

It wasn't exactly customary to leave your customer in the room after he zipped his pants. Typically, he was the one leaving. However, you couldn't ask him to go. You didn't know why, but all you knew was you wanted him waiting in the same spot when you returned. You just felt a craving and couldn't make it leave. As force of habit, you simply threw a long coat over your bra and panties. As force of necessity, you put on comfortable shoes to lead you out. Hoping and praying you wouldn't be caught, you sneaked out your room. You figured you had coaxed the poor guy enough to stay. It seemed a long distance from the hall to the way out, but there were plenty of other scantily dressed ladies to distract other customers, especially since they were too drunk to look straight by this time of night. At this point, you might have even cared about getting caught. You knew what you needed, and you were going to get it.

You needed a ginger ale.

To think you had gone for so many years without even one. It was your favorite drink. You loved it more than any alcohol, and you had recently been treated to what every man claimed was "the finest." You didn't care anymore. Life was not about buying the richest things, food, or wine, just to brag about the price tag. You were once a child, and like most children, you enjoyed snacks without considering the price at all. You always wanted life to be that way, and you felt the need to return to something comforting, something that was easy to obtain. You were in luck; Spike was only able to pay you the equivalent of pocket money you could have found on the street, and it was the perfect amount to buy more than one ginger ale. How could you ever repay him?

Back in your room, Spike was contemplating. His thoughts about the evening were a lot more similar to yours than you would have known. He could say that most important of all, he got across the message about your boss. Whether or not he would try to take him out was a different story, but it was not difficult to convince you of the reality. Since that was a short-lived thought, all he had left to consider was you--you as a person, the same person who let him in. After all, he could barely pay you, but you acted as though it made no difference. In the meantime, he absorbed sights and sounds, breathing in your perfume, which was not too overwhelming. Though he wasn't an expert in scents, he could at least agree it smelled womanly. Not fake, just as down to earth as you had tried to be with him. 

"Hey, Spike," you almost whispered, "I'm back. Sorry about that."

"It's fine, I don't care," he was comfortably sprawled in almost the exact way you left him, "What did you go out for?"

"These," you showed him not one, but two cans of your old favorite, "It's been years."

You handed him one before prompting him to scoot and make room for you. Without hesitation, you nearly plopped beside him and popped the can. Taking a big inhale of the welcoming fizz on top, you sipped. Immediately, you were in heaven. This certainly took you back to happier days, and something about tonight--something about him--made you want to feel that again. As you glanced to your left, Spike was still watching.

"Don't just sit there, silly. Drink with me."

"Right, I'm sorry," he turned away and opened his own can.

"I suppose I gave you what you wanted, and let me say: you were a lot more polite about it than others have been in the past. This is not what people like me do, but I took the liberty to get my way as well. I think I might need to ask you a favor now…you're not gonna charge me, right?"

"No need," he took a casual sip and cooly replied, "I'll just get it from your boss."

"Okay," you chuckled, "well then, I'm just gonna ask you. Will you listen to me?"

"Just sit right here and listen to you talk, you mean?"

"Yep, that's all I'm asking. It sounds easy, right?"

"Sure, it's easy. I know not everyone's good at it, but it is easy. Go on, then. I'll listen."

You took a deep breath, reached for his hand, and began. You talked. You talked to him like he was taking time to know you better. You almost felt bad, but something had opened your suppressed heart. Luckily, your story didn't consist of too many excruciating details, despite the bumps that were in your road behind you. It seemed that a history of failed romances could have led you to your job, some as far back as the time you were a teenager. It also seemed that both of your working parents, though not necessarily being unloving, may have been slightly inattentive to your needs. All the same, a concise story didn't always make sense. Nevertheless, here you sat, taking your customer's hand, and letting him know how you ended up where you were today.

"Honestly," you ended your story this way, "if I were very selfish, I would send you to every boss I ever had and ask you to blast the shit out of each one, bounty or none."

Taking a deep, relieving breath, you sipped your refreshing drink, supposedly drowning the memories you had laid before yourself and him.

"And…you never told anyone else about this?" his hand, which had once been in yours, was now placed on your shoulder.

"No, and I probably shouldn't have, but once in a while, you wake up and realize that no one really asks you how you're doing. Then, you find out for yourself that you're not alright. I guess that's what happened. This field of work isn't exactly known for being an emotional one, you know."

You sighed, currently reflecting on all the emotions you felt in the past few minutes of explaining yourself.

"You said what needed to be said, and you shouldn't be concerned with whether or not other people do it around here."

"Spike…would you feel better if I knew more about you, or do you not really do that?"

"Let me put it this way: you know enough for now. Maybe you can ask me more next time."

Next time. I never thought I'd hear that.

"Let me guess," he cupped your cheek, "there's never been next time before, right?"

"Wait, how did you know I was thinking that?" you blushed, and this was not a common occurrence either. 

"Just wait for me. I always win, and that automatically means next time is coming soon."

"Well, alright. I guess I'll believe you."

For the first time in ages, that very night, your customer, Spike, gave you a somewhat affectionate kiss on your lips. This was a night in which you had broken many rules, and you no longer cared. 

"See you later, and thanks for the drink."

"You're welcome," you rose to show him the way out. You wouldn't waste the precious last seconds of the night with him, wanting to see him whichever way he left. Taking one more breath of the unique, scented air, Spike stuck his hands in his pockets and left. You watched until the last second. You couldn't stop watching. No matter how lasting that last second was, you knew this time, for the first time in your life, that there was finally going to be a next time.

_There's a next time for the first time in my life. I might be foolish, and this might be sudden. Dammit, this must be what people call love._


End file.
